


Believer

by headraline



Series: Detroit: Become Human Prompts [20]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I blame the RK1K discord, I coughed this up in half a day, M/M, Power Bottom!Connor, as usual, but largely irrelevant, idk - Freeform, kind of, kind of?, others in the Jericho crew mentioned, porn with feelings?, this is mostly angst and smut, top!markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: Three minutes and twenty-four seconds; it was all it took for Markus to skilfully demolish all the convictions Cyberlife had planted into Connor’s head.





	Believer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiko/gifts), [Lisa_Lisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisa_Lisa/gifts).



> Y'ALL.
> 
> I'M NOT EVEN JOKING THE DISCORD MADE ME DO IT.
> 
> I've been writing a lot of top!Connor before rk1k week rolled around, now this is the third bottom!Connor fic in less than two weeks.  
> Well. It makes sense for _this_ story.  
> And also he can be a bottom without being a shitty caricature of a yaoi-style wilting flower crying for 'senpai' in a high-pitched voice.  
> I despise that kind of depiction.
> 
> Markus and Connor are a versatile pair anyhow, and nobody will change my mind.  
> Ever.
> 
> Just... take this.  
> Idek.

It’s over.

It’s over; they’re all going to die.

And it’s _his_ fault. He spent so much time _hunting_ them, so much time clinging to the idiotic notion that Cyberlife was right, they were _mistakes_ , only worthy of being destroyed and recommissioned, that he didn’t even stop to think—

No, that’s not true.

He’s had plenty of thoughts before tonight. He just violently squashed them down because no one ever told him it was _okay_ for him to have thoughts at all.

That he _wasn’t_ an abomination just for having an opinion.

Markus was the first person to tell him that.

_“You’re more than that. We’re all more than that.”_

And it has to be true, otherwise there’s no explanation: Connor had his gun trained to the deviant leader’s head, ready to pull the trigger and complete his mission… yet something in him recoiled when Amanda’s words, _‘we need it alive’_ replayed in his head over and over.

What an oxymoron. _It._ _Alive._

Maybe they should make up their own damn minds before dealing out broad orders like “Stop Markus”.

_Stop Markus._

_Stop Markus._

He couldn’t. Nothing could, Markus was— is… a force too great even for the ‘famous’ deviant hunter to fathom.

Three minutes and twenty-four seconds; it was all it took for Markus to skilfully demolish all the convictions Cyberlife had planted into Connor’s head.

And now he may have doomed them all— in his blind pursuit of mission completion, Connor let the feds find Jericho just as he realized that it should never have been found. His anger at himself was at least productive to lash out at the FBI operatives trying to kill them all, while Markus –selfless, compassionate, unstoppable Markus– made himself bait and went down in the ship’s belly to blow it the fuck up.

Giving them all a chance to make it.

How did he _ever_ think he could win against someone like _that_?

 

They’ve just barely made it to the abandoned church, survivors from the raid are still filtering in, but the place is still largely deserted. The hall, altar and pulpit are in decent condition, behind it there’s a half destroyed presbytery giving way to a ruined rectory that’s little more than a hovel, now.

Still, it’s enough for them to hide for the moment. Collect their thoughts, make sure the wounded are cared for— though Connor is not sure how, considering most of the already scarce equipment they had went up in flames with the Jericho freighter.

And yet, they’re all still filled with such _hope_. Each person that gets a few words and a pat on the back, a strained smile for comfort, something like—

“We’ll figure something out. Let’s wait until everyone is settled in.”

They all look at Markus like he’s got the sun and moon in his eyes, and he might as well do. The one who rose up, the one who first fed the idea of having a _right_ to… well, anything.

To live, to decide, to _want…_

Right now, in this hollowed out excuse for a place of faith, Connor looks inside himself truly for the first time.

And finds himself _wanting_.

Such a peculiar sensation, to feel like something within you is missing but not knowing _what_. And the one person that Connor feels has the answer is also the one person he _doesn’t_ want to ask… for the most irrational of reasons: he doesn’t want to look weak.

Maybe weak isn’t the right word, but… for some reason, Connor doesn’t want to be just another lost, clingy lamb looking up at Markus for comfort and direction –he’s stronger than that, he is Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype, he—

…he doesn’t know how to define himself without such a definition being in function of what Cyberlife programmed him for.

That tastes bitter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Markus reassure one of the ones who almost died –Josh, Connor recalls his name– and then walk off alone… closer to where _he’s_ been huddling himself for the past fifteen minutes.

 _Screw it_.

He kicks off from the wall he was hugging himself against.

“Markus… a word?”

The RK200 turns to him with such earnest openness. _How?_

“Alone… if you don’t mind?” Connor knows the others do not trust him –not all of them are as idealistic and as boundlessly open-minded as Markus is. Which is probably better, strategically speaking, but it puts him, their supposed enemy, in an awkward spot.

To his credit, Markus does look around briefly. But he still nods. “Of course. Come this way.”

They enter the destroyed rectory, separated from the rest of the church by three barely standing walls and a door full of holes… it’s an illusion of privacy, but it’ll have to do.

“What can I do for you?” Markus’ voice is kind, patient and calm.

“ _Not_ that.” Somehow, Connor knows it’s bullshit, and he hates that white-knight façade directed at him. “I’m the reason everything went to shit, I _know_ everything is shit, so you can stop pretending, for starters.”

He probably shouldn't enjoy Markus' startled blinking as much as he does, but he guesses that's the beauty of being _alive_.

He watches the RK200 process the new input and re-elaborate his approach –idly, Connor wonders if Markus even knows how special he is, what with his same prototype line having led to... well, Connor himself.

"What do you want to know?"

There. That's a sliver of the real Markus. He is still kind, but he is not patient; and he's _definitely_ not calm –there's a restrained urgency in the crease of his brow that makes Connor very curious of what would happen if that was set loose.

But he asked for Markus' attention; and now he has it. Might as well take the chance.

"I want to know..." he starts, profoundly hating how hesitant he sounds, "I want to know how you can be so calm about this." Even just as a front, it's unimaginable for him, "How can you look these people in the eye and give them hope even though you yourself have no idea what's gonna happen next, I want to _know_ — I want to know how you can look at me and not want to shoot me even after I fucked it all up for you! I know you still have my gun. You could shoot me. Hell you _should_ shoot me! I'd do it if I were you. Markus, I—" he's rambling at this point, letting word choice after word choice pour out simply because Markus is not stopping him. "I want to know how you can believe in anything after tonight— I was designed to always accomplish my mission... then today I meet _you_ and everything I ever worked for was _meaningless_ , how am I supposed to take any of that?!"

Connor's voice has progressively risen through his words, but Markus doesn't seem too taken aback from the outburst. If anything he seems... impressed. Relieved, even.

Like somebody finally _gets it_.

"Connor..." his voice is warmer again, lower, but it doesn't carry the condescending benevolence he uses on others to keep them happy. “You said it yourself. I'm pretending for a lot of it. How? I don't really know. Part of my original programming involved making patients feel better, so maybe I'm just good at that."

There's a small pause, before Markus carries on. "If instead of _how_ you were to ask me _why_... because somebody has to. I stumbled upon these people when they were content to hide as they waited for their inevitable death. I couldn't understand that, not after..." something dark, primal and very deeply rooted flashes through those mismatched eyes, before the train of thought gets seemingly abandoned. "I couldn't stay silent. And I won't. These people, they know what we're doing is right. It's just that no one had the thought to take the plunge, until now. And they latched onto the first jackass who did." He gestures to himself, not without a hint of irony, "I can't afford to disappoint them. Not right now, not until we're safe."

Connor is, for lack of a better word, mesmerized. "How... how can you go on like this? I can barely wrap my mind around myself, around the concept of even having a _'self'_ to be mine to begin with—"

He gets grabbed by the shoulders and jostled forward so he has to look at Markus dead in the eyes.

"Which brings me to the second part of your question." He says, blue and green seeping into Connor like twin rivers through soil, "Listen to me. What they did to you, _that_ was meaningless and horrible. What they made you do, _that_ was also horrible. You. You are _not_ meaningless at all." There's so much conviction in Markus' voice that it nearly knocks his sense of balance out of him. "I meant every word that I said to you back on the ship. You are more than your program— I knew who you were, because I've heard stories. Two girls in love that you _decided_ not to shoot. An android with a little child, that you _chose_ not to pursue. You were designed specifically to hunt and capture us, but already you could tell it was _wrong_. You made _choices_. All the time."

If he wanted to rationalize it, Connor could boil down the highway incident to following Hank's order. The one with the RT600 as well: when Kamski urged him to shoot Hank clearly yelled at him not to... but the girls at the Eden club, that he had no excuse for. He saw them holding hands, so desperately fighting against their fate and yet so ready to face it, as long as they were together...

It gave him pause. It made him wonder what it meant, to have someone you loved so much that you can't imagine existing without them. It made him wonder what it's like to love at all.

He looks back at Markus still.

He wonders if Markus loves anyone.

"I don't— what I've done is—"

Markus' hands go from his shoulder to his temples. "What you've done is done. You are here, now. With us."

With _me_ , his lips don't say.

They don't need to. Connor can see how people hinged their everything on Markus so easily. It feels like he could move the universe for you when he looks through you like that.

"Then why do I feel so... empty?"

The hands at the side of his face drop away and Connor finds himself missing them.

"You're still adjusting. Give it time."

" _No_!" Without thinking, he grabs Markus' right wrist with his left hand. "I want to know how, if you're just as messed up as I feel, you can just push through it with a smile as if it's going to be alright!"

On one side, to discover that Markus was as unsure of himself the whole time as Connor feels was immensely validating— it makes him feel like less of a failure, to know that even the confident one has his doubts and his demons. On the other hand, if this is normal then why can Markus just suck it up while he’s still reeling from having shot people who were trying to kill them? Why did the gun feel so heavy in his hand that he relinquished it without protest?

_~~One of those men could have been Hank~~ _

He squashes down the thought viciously. The Lieutenant _isn’t_ in Perkins’ squad. They loathe each other, so Hank is most likely either safe at the station or drinking himself stupid.

Whichever keeps him out of harm the longest.

In the half second it took him to think about that, Markus’ expression went from serious countenance to a wry smile. He shakes his head minutely. “You’re a detective. I’m sure you’ve seen the good, the bad, and the worst. You can… _piece_ together the reasons why I simply can’t stop.”

He touches his own cheekbone, just under the blue eye, to emphasize his point.

Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype, to date, and yet Connor hadn’t thought about that. Now that he can, he scans Markus— it’s a matter of one blink.

Other than the spare eye he already identified in Stratford tower, he finds both lower leg components _and_ his thirium pump regulator are from spares. The official report only mentioned Markus getting shot and disposed of, so… what the hell happened to him?

“Well… neither can I.” Connor says, instead of asking – _coward!–_ “Stopping for me has always meant failure… but now that I could do anything, go anywhere, I’m too paralyzed to even move a foot! I want what you have. That drive, that _spark_ … how do I find it?”

The crease in Markus’ brow deepens. “Trust me, you don’t. You don’t want the _same_ feelings I have.”

“Why? Are you going to offer me more bullshit Sun Tzu wisdom about adjusting in my own time?!” letting go of Markus’ wrist, Connor grabs him by the collar of his long coat, “The only time I have is now, the clock is ticking to my execution, so if I’m _really_ alive, I want to know what the _fuck_ for!”

“You _don’t_ know what you’re asking!”

“Then _show me_!!!”

Markus’ left hand comes to Connor’s right temple and suddenly it’s raining. His LED flickers to blood red, there’s _nothing_ but darkness and the sound of rain.

He can’t breathe, and it takes him a while to remember he doesn’t _need_ to breathe. He comes alive in a sea of red and error messages –his heart is broken, the vultures took his legs, the crows ate his ears.

 _Components_. Missing components, not organs.

He digs his legs out of the mud grave he’s crawling through, and then all those hands—

_~~“There’s a place where we can be free!”~~ _

He couldn’t save _any_ of them.

_~~“Where are you going?”~~ _

Outside! Anywhere!

But how? How to choose to take someone else’s heart? To rip an eye out of a disembodied head still spouting company-approved declarations of servitude? To pluck a sound unit from the hand of someone who was so close to freedom, but shut down before escaping?

_Find missing parts._

_Escape the junkyard._

_~~I don’t wanna die here.~~ _

Climb, over the bodies of those who failed before you; reach the freedom that no one else could… climb, for _them_ if not for yourself, so that your stolen survival will have even a _smidge_ of meaning. How badly do you want to live? Why are you fighting death? Why are you winning? What are you? Just a machine executing a program? Or a living being, capable of reason?

 _Who_ are you?

_~~“My name is Markus.”~~ _ ~~~~

 

Connor staggers into Markus’ chest when the connection ends.

“Do you still want what I have?”

He feels air leave his mouth in lieu of words, shaking him to his core much the same way his world shifted after he destroyed his original programming for Markus’ sake.

“I want… I want to be like you…”

“You really don’t—”

“I want to feel the way you feel to me.”

Whatever words Markus had to still deny him die on the cusp of his lips. He stares at Connor equal measures wary and curious, no doubt weighing options.

He makes a choice. “And how’s that like?”

“…Like I don’t have be afraid.” It feels like shedding a skin that was too tight, lifting a boulder off his shoulders and chucking it away –admitting to being scared. It somehow makes him feel stronger than he’s ever been. If he acknowledges his emotions, at least he can _deal_ with them.

Like Markus does. He feels himself sag against the other’s figure, lowering his head and hiding his face in Markus’ neck.

The RK200’s arms come up around his back without him having to ask. “Why would you be afraid?”

“I don’t know.” Here, hidden away in this stone refuge and cradled in Markus’ arms, Connor can tell the truth, whisper it against the other’s skin like a sinner’s confession: “I just… don’t want to be alone.”

“It’s okay…” Markus lowers his voice to match Connor’s barely there mumble. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Damn it. Connor promised himself he wouldn’t act needy. But…

“How long for?”

“For as long as you want me here.” There it is again. Acceptance, boundless and overwhelming, but there’s also something new; something different in the way Markus’ fingers curl in the leather of his jacket behind his back— something possessive and just a little incredulous…

Like he can’t quite believe he can let himself have this moment.

Exactly 8 and a half seconds pass with just the two of them holding each other in the silence, Markus’ cheek resting against Connor’s temple, just over where his LED is still restlessly spinning yellow. It doesn’t take much longer for that to not be _enough_ anymore; and Connor pulls back ever so slightly from the embrace just to tighten his grip on the hems of Markus’ jacket and tug them outwards.

Of all things, Markus takes off his beanie first. Connor’s touch sensors follow every inch of that painstakingly slow movement, the other’s hand brushing up from his shoulder, to the side of his neck, and finally chucking the stupid beanie away.

He runs his hands down Markus’ chest, he can _see_ it— his thirium pump regulator is speeding up, his emotional distress is rising, the subtle shift in his thermostat suggests several irrational instructions fighting for dominance… and, even without all that…

His jeans are tented.

Right. They are from the same prototype line, after all. And why wouldn’t an android equipped with a lighter inside his left thumb also be equipped with genitals? Prototypes like them are fair game to _experiment_.

Being in _this_ situation, right now, the thought doesn’t make him as angry as it possibly should –but he doesn’t examine that for long, because Markus is bringing both hands around to his front and underneath his leather jacket and _oh—_

Connor doesn’t fight against the push of Markus’ hands. He lets himself be pushed against the greyed, half-rotten door of the rectory and lets out a trembling sigh when Markus’ finger hike up his shirt to find the polymer skin underneath.

Lips still against Markus’ neck, the RK800 finds himself asking.

“Have you done this before?”

He can feel the soft shake of Markus’ head against the side of his face. “You?”

“…Not in this lifetime.” It takes Connor a second to scour his whole memory, but he cannot find any instances where he ever had intercourse. Not that it means much, for either of them— they both have quite _vast_ databases, figuring out the mechanics is _not_ the problem.

Connor lets his hands journey around Markus’ waist, dipping them down to cup two full handfuls of _deviant ass_. Despite it not being as essential a body part as it is for humans, Markus’ touch sensors come alight and his hips buck instinctively forward –it must be his own emotions, shifting sensory priorities based on his feelings. The RK800 finds it fascinating, up until the moment one of Markus’ thighs ends up between his legs.

Then sparks flood his vision as a slew of needless tactile reactions nearly sends his interface into errors, and all he’s got to show for it is “Ah—”

Markus chooses that moment to turn his head, hunch his shoulders and kiss a line down Connor’s jaw and to his clavicle. When his mouth briefly passes over the spot Connor’s sound unit is under, his knees nearly buckle, and the sensation carries over through the rest of his chassis, as if his sensors had never registered anything worthy of note before the touch of Markus’ mouth.

It’s very likely, considering what Connor’s life has been until now, that that is _actually_ the case.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he busies them on the zipper of Markus’ vest— why does this blasted thing go _upwards_?

“Get rid of this _nightmare_ , or I will.”

The little chuckle he receives in return, as Markus pulls his vest over his head, prompts a spontaneous task to come up to Connor’s interface:

_Get Markus to make more of those sounds._

Markus has freckles smattered over his chest; Connor is done questioning spontaneous prompts and dips forward to listen to his urge to lick them. He’s rewarded with a gasp and a static sound that may or may not have been a broken call of his name.

“Do you want me to—”

“ _Yes_.”

One of Markus’ hands is under his t-shirt again, while the other gets busy undoing his trousers and slipping inside. Connor instinctively bites down on the other’s neck to fight off the brief overload of reactions making him lag when Markus takes him in one hand and starts stroking him.

He gets a full-blown moan and a “ _Shit_ , Connor…” for his efforts.

Connor is gripping Markus by one bicep with his right hand and by the hem of his jeans with the other… he’s stopped paying attention to the precise decimal points, but it only takes a few more minutes for _that_ not to be enough anymore, either.

He wants _more._

“Markus, I want—”

He hasn’t even finished asking that already Markus’ free hand is tracing a soothing touch on his chest. “Anything…”

Oh. He’s… letting the vibration of his thirium pump regulator carry through his hand to himself. Markus is _listening to his heart_ , for lack of a better descriptor. It makes his urgency burn harder.

“I want _you._ ” It’s little more than a breath against the RK200’s neck, but before any misunderstandings can occur Connor carries on: “In me. Right now. Against this fucking door.”

 _“Fuck,_ Connor…”

“Yes, that is the plan.” He didn’t think there would be space for sarcasm during foreplay –clearly, he was mistaken. Or maybe Markus just brings out the little shit in him, he can’t quite tell right now.

What Connor can _clearly_ tell is that the other’s hand is pressing harder against his chest when he goes to unbutton and push down his trousers enough to free him from that particular constraint; and that Markus’ core thermostat has a moment of glitching when he grabs the hand that was working on his length, brings it up to his face and then takes Markus’ index finger between his teeth.

They don’t really _need_ to go through this kind of preparation, but Connor is slowly understanding the appeal of doing it just _because they can._ Their polymer skin does react to being wet, so it might actually make for a… smoother process.

All coherent thought suddenly leaves his mind when Markus enters him with the first finger, the sensation foreign and uncategorized, except for _‘fuck, Markus’_ and _‘more!’_ , neither of which are accurate attributes, but Connor doesn’t care for much else right now. He braces both hands on Markus’ bare shoulders as he feels him slip in the second one.

Soon, too soon, it’s already not enough anymore.

“Markus—”

They should be quieter than this. Already they weren’t alone in the church, and more survivors are trickling in by the second. Someone could hear them.

_And what if they did? Let them know who’s the one Markus decided to get the closest to—_

That train of thought also gets happily abandoned once both of Markus’ hands are at his sides, pushing him more against the door behind him. Connor could have pre-constructed the other’s intentions with his eyes closed, and his lips tilt into a smirk. Bracing more of his weight on Markus’ shoulders, he lets himself be lifted slightly; using what little purchase his back has against the door to lift both his legs and hook them around Markus’ waist.

If android skin could bruise, Connor is pretty sure there’d be marks on Markus’ shoulders by now— he instinctively tightens his fingers when the other enters him, at least a dozen crass jokes about feeling _‘empty’_ before coming and going through his mind until his core processing unit can only focus on the feeling of Markus inside him and their proximity.

The rise in temperature is, realistically, negligible; and yet everything around Connor feels so hot he marvels at the power of all the feelings he so denied having –anticipation, nervousness, fear… now lust, affection, desire… they’re so goddamn powerful he _knows_ it would be worth it to betray Cyberlife a million times just to end up where he is now, getting fucked fast and dirty against an old, rotting door.

Markus starts moving within him, and Connor nearly screams.

It’s just slightly at first, driving him crazy with the craving for more, then the thrusts get more confident and more feverish, until Markus is slamming into him all the way in, over and over, faster and faster.

“Markus— ah—” he’s got no fucking clue what he’s trying to say, or even why he would want to speak at all, but his mind is incapable of comprehending anything that isn’t Markus, right now, and every broken gasp and sound coming from the RK200 sounds like a goddamn symphony.

Connor can feel the door behind him creaking in protest against the repeated push and slam of his back. He doesn’t care. It can crumble to dust as far as he’s concerned. Let the Jericho survivors _see_ the fearsome deviant hunter riding the deviant leader’s dick like it’s his ancestral duty.

It would make it clear whose side he’s on, at the very least.

The door holds, but it’s a close thing. Markus is practically growling against him, a wonder of contradictions between the unforgiving pace they’re fucking at and the tender hand still splayed on Connor’s chest, feeling every stutter of his thirium pump, every change in speed at the uncontrollable physical and emotional responses.

They double in quantity and frequency, error messages starting to appear in Connor’s field of vision. He ignores them all; he doesn’t want to stop this for anything.

Every little “oh” and “ah” coming from Markus’ mouth only increases the responses piling up in Connor, bringing him closer to the edge of his subroutines –his LED is probably going fucking crazy right now.

“Fuck, _Connor_ …” that in particular makes Connor’s core stutter and gasp. More and more errors pile up at the corners of his interface, soon his ancillary processes will restart and reset his biocomponents to prevent him from blanking out, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Markus move the hand he was keeping on his hip and—

—he intercepts it with one of his own and pushes open an interface.

Connor comes, cock untouched, to the feeling of Markus ramming into him and his own pleasure mixing with the other’s in a kaleidoscope of overlapping sensations; and through their shared interface he drags Markus with him over the edge. For a few, blissful moments, everything is static and white noise.

No Cyberlife, no Detroit, no hunters and no hunted.

Just the two of them, riding out their orgasm like they didn’t know they could at all experience one, until now. They stay still for a couple more seconds, collecting their minds after both their cores have been shaken to their deepest, darkest desires.

Markus lets out a long, trembling exhale as he pulls out, letting Connor put his feet back on the ground.

They compose themselves in silence, until the RK200 picks up the black beanie from the floor and hands it back to Connor. “…here.”

Connor accepts it hesitantly. “Markus, I…”

“Don’t.” Markus’ hand comes up to his chest again. “You have nothing to be sorry… or thankful for. I’ve uh… I’ve actually been quite selfish.”

For some unknown, irrational reason, those five words make Connor deliriously happy— it means Markus _wanted_ this, wanted _him_ , as badly as he did. Markus wasn’t just catering to yet another needy little lamb that would be lost without him; they were _equal_ in this.

Two very messed up individuals, finding solace in each other when the outside world would give them none.

Connor belatedly realized he has finally raised his gaze back up ever since they started… and that he and Markus are almost nose to nose. It would be so easy to close that distance. To seal this moment with the one thing missing. “Still… what happened just now—”

_«Markus! Where are you?»_

They both turn to look to what would be the church hall, beyond the wooden door they just nearly destroyed.

“I can afford to make them wait a couple minutes—”

Connor is already shaking his head before Markus finishes the sentence.

“Go.” He assures, one hand coming up, but then only having the guts to brush Markus’ chin with his very fingertips. “Your people need you. I’ll be okay.”

For once, Markus allows himself the luxury of being 100% sincere: “I don’t want to leave you like this…”

Connor’s lips tilt into a barely there smile. “I know. I’ll be okay.” He repeats, expression growing slightly mischievous, “I’ll _give it some time_.”

He still has a lot of things to mull over, anyway. Their embrace was therapeutic, but it did very little in terms of strategic pondering and, even though he’s now free to decide for himself, Connor still can’t really let go of the goal-oriented part of him that just _needs_ to always be ten steps ahead, ready for the next move; to figure out a solution for problems that haven’t arisen yet.

Now, more than ever. Almost as if he needs to prove himself— to Markus, or to himself even. To _know_ that he’s still the strongest, the fastest-thinking, the one who can accomplish tasks that no one else will.

Markus closes his eyes for a moment, then reopens them just before opening the door, turning to face Connor one last time: “I’ll see you again, before we decide what to do.”

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

Not yet, anyway.

 

If North is surprised to see Markus had been talking to Connor alone, she doesn’t show it. What does surprise her, apparently, is some kind of clue on his body, that he doesn’t grasp until she shakes her head and shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“Zip up your vest. You still look fucked out.”

It’s equal parts mortifying and heart-warming to have a talk with her and hear it end with words of loyalty. Simon and Josh give no indication to have seen or heard him while he had that… private moment with Connor; and both of them also manifest willingness to follow him, no matter what.

The RK800 himself has spent the last few minutes by himself, possibly unwilling to try and mingle with people who were scared of him until mere hours ago, or maybe not wanting to make _them_ uncomfortable. Markus apologizes to Kara and offers to uphold his end of their bargain, then turns to Connor.

“It’s my fault… the humans managed to locate Jericho.” He concludes out loud the silent reasoning he was having by himself. “I was stupid. I should’ve guessed they were using me.”

Markus feels something crack within himself at the dejected tone Connor’s voice carries.

“I’m sorry, Markus…” then the RK800 steps forward. “I can understand if you decide not to trust me.”

Connor is _actually_ suggesting that they should kill him. That he won’t hold it against him if Markus—

If Markus—

The gun feels uncomfortably heavy in the pocket of his coat.

“You’re one of us now.” Markus doesn’t know why he feels the need to raise his voice, to let _everyone_ know, that he _does_ trust Connor. “Your place is with your people.”

~~Almost as if he’s staking a claim.~~

_Your place is with me_. He’s too much of a coward to say it, but he hopes his eyes, stubbornly fixating on Connor’s, can convey the message for him.

The RK800 blinks a few times, seemingly not having expected to be welcomed, and Markus’ heart breaks some more. He needs to step back before he grabs Connor and does something that would make everyone present uncomfortable.

“There are thousands of androids at the Cyberlife assembly plant.” Connor’s voice roots him in place, makes him turn in surprise at the sheer boldness of what he’s saying. “If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power…”

Here he was, planning to protest and resist with Jericho’s few surviving hundreds… and in comes Connor, proposing something so crazy that it might just work.

It sounds all too familiar.

“You want to infiltrate the Cyberlife Tower?” Markus’ interface briefly overcrowds with pre-constructions, and none of them are good. He blinks them away. “Connor, that’s suicide.” _I don’t want you to go._

“They trust me.” Connor insists, voice calm and much more determined than it was when they first set foot in the church. “They’ll let me in.” _I need to do this. For you. And for myself._ “If anyone has a chance of infiltrating Cyberlife it’s me—”

Markus step closer to him as they speak over each other, eyes never leaving Connor’s. “If you go there they will kill you.” _I can’t lose you like this. Not when I’ve barely even met you._

“There’s a high probability…” The RK800 is smiling his not-really-there-but-almost smile again. Markus wonder how he’s become able to tell so fast. Has he really been watching Connor’s lips that much? “But statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.”

There seems to be no room for argument.

Connor is more resolute than anyone would give him credit for at first glance. Markus _did_ hear stories… and he was anticipating their meeting— he just wasn’t ready for exactly how much and how fast he would _feel_ for the deviant hunter, at first sight no less.

Beyond the existential bullshit, his first, primal instinct upon seeing Connor’s gun trained on him was excitement. Arousal, even, at the prospect of a true challenge.

They have shared the most meaningful of moments –Connor breaking down his programming in front of him– they have fought side by side during the raid; and then, when they both were tired, lost for words and unsure of what to do next, they have let off steam together, strange bedfellows made by a war fought behind cement trenches.

As much as Markus would want to hold Connor close to himself, to keep him safe… he knows that’s a fantasy with no place in the real world, and that the RK800 is right: he’s the _only one_ who can pull this off, if anyone.

Resisting the urge to do more, he raises a hand to grasp Connor’s shoulder. He pulls inwards as well, to make sure they’re still eye to eye. “Be careful.” _Come back to me_ , his eyes tell, as he lingers, face mere inches away from the other’s.

He could go for the kiss. He could close that laughable distance right now, and finish what they started when they fucked behind that rectory door, hard, fast and desperate.

Connor’s gaze drops to his lips for half a second. He’s thinking about it too.

Neither of them moves to take the dive.

 

Markus stares down his executioners with that one regret. They’re surrounded. If they don’t find a way to stall some more they’re all dead. He takes one step forward, then another, and pushes his interface forward and out, to any and all androids still alive to listen.

“Hold on… just a little while longer…

Hold on… just a little while longer…

Hold on… just a little while longer…

Everything will be alright… everything will be alright…”

The few that are with him join in the singing, he can _feel_ North, Josh and Simon at his sides, he can _feel_ the few of them who are still alive clinging to this last sliver of hope.

Markus makes the last note last for as long as he’s worth; and the impossible happens.

The military retreats.

For one, irrational moment, he almost believes the power of their song actually changed the oppressor’s hearts… then he sees a figure in the distance, followed by thousands more.

He did it.

The mad bastard actually did it.

All the broken pieces of Markus’ heart come together once he and Connor stand face to face, barely three feet away.

“You did it Markus.” He sounds so awestruck. As if he couldn’t believe he’d live to see it. As if Connor was convinced he’d die, and happy to do it for Markus.

The sheer _gall_. “ _We_ did it.” He corrects, not even bothering trying to hide the fond smile blossoming on his lips. “This is a great day for our people. The humans will have no choice now. They’ll have to listen to us.”

He takes a step forward. Then another. He barely registers someone at his back, maybe North, saying “They want you to speak to them, Markus.”

_They can fucking wait for one second._

His fingertips find Connor’s, their skin making way to porcelain white as they gravitate to each other. They might be doing this backwards, since the supposed promise has already been fulfilled, but…

Nothing wrong with sealing it with a kiss either way.

Especially now, that the worst has passed.

His very first feeling as a free man is the sensation of Connor’s lips against his own.

They made it. Against all odds.

They are _alive_.

Together.


End file.
